


Black Hands Do Not Mean A Black Heart

by feainn (Espanglish)



Series: Black Hearts [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games), Thief (Video Game 2014), Thief (Video Games)
Genre: And while being a good friend he comes to some realisations about Garrett, Basso just wants to be a good friend, Best Friends, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Romance, Sort Of, just a teensy bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 06:58:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17544875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espanglish/pseuds/feainn
Summary: It wasn’t often Basso saw Garrett show interest in anything other than shiny things and challenging jobs.But Basso guesses tonight is the night for some new revelations.





	Black Hands Do Not Mean A Black Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Blackhand - the punishment by the City where they used to burn a thief's hand in hot black tar.
> 
> Disclaimer: No harm came to little thiefy hands in this fic.

The Burrick was quiet at this time of night, something that Basso appreciated as he sipped at his ale. It was watered down to resemble, and taste, like pig swill but who was he to complain? It warmed his belly, took out the remaining chill in his bones and it mixed nicely with the comfortable atmosphere of the pub. There was no place he’d rather be.

Jenivere was nestled on the table in front of him, pecking at the remaining crumbs on his plate, knocking his hand away whenever it was in the way. He sighed, muttered _”stupid bird”_ under his breath, though it was said with a fond smile. He rubbed a thumb on top of her head as he took another sip of his ale, finishing the last of it.

Though he was turned away from the back entrance, Basso could feel a presence behind him; slinky, ghost-like. _Familiar._ He smiled into his tankard as Garrett sat down across from him, the wood of the bench barely creaking underneath his weight, as if he wasn’t really there.

“Basso.” 

The greeting was said in Garrett’s usual deadpan timber, no smile on his face but with a glint in his eye. Basso rose his empty tankard in greeting, turning to whistle at Dolly, one of the barmaids, to bring over two new ales. She clucked her tongue at him before finishing up cleaning the empty plates and mugs away, marching over towards the bar.

Basso turned back to Garrett, smirking at Garrett’s raised eyebrow and shrugged. His eyebrow twitched in amusement but he didn’t comment, like usual, and folded his hands on the table in front of him, ignoring the stain of... _something_ just to the right of him.

“Garrett,” Basso started, thanking Dolly as she placed the two tankards down in front of them, “how’s it going?” 

Garrett pulled the tankard towards him, raising it to his nose and sniffing lightly. It was something he did every time despite frequenting the Burrick regularly enough, knowing each time his ale wasn’t, in fact, laced with poison. But Basso could understand, Garrett relied on his skills of survival and he’d do anything to make sure his life wasn’t in jeopardy, even if it meant sniffing at his drink whenever he came to the Burrick... and be served by the same people who knew him and wouldn’t threaten his life in any way imaginable.

The thief took a hesitant sip, then another when he had realised that no, his drink was _not poisoned_. He placed the tankard down, eyes roaming around the room, slightly tense and cautious until he looked back to Basso, who was waiting patiently.

He shrugged a shoulder carelessly, lips pulling into a smirk, “Same old. Managed to get into Old Freddy’s...”

“Really? That old hoot is still kickin’? Thought his liver packed in?”

“Apparently not,” Garrett quipped, “His place was riddled with traps. Didn’t see him but it looked like someone had been home recently.”

Basso snorted into his drink, ignoring Jenivere as she pecked at his knuckles. Garrett had gone back to observing the room, apparently no longer interested in the conversation or caring to elaborate anymore than he already had. It made Basso sigh, putting down his drink to watch Garrett quietly. He did that a lot; watched silently as Garrett brooded, taking in everything he could and no matter how much Basso tried to understand, he felt he was always one step behind, always missing an important piece of a puzzle that was too complex beyond most people’s understanding.

They were quiet, more so than usual, Basso sat with his chin propped up by his hand and Garrett hunched low in his seat, eyes scanning the room then looking away every other minute. Basso watched him, a small frown wrinkling his brow while he studied the minute expressions cross the thief’s face. It was equal parts frustrating and entertaining. 

Though something must have caught Garrett’s attention, his mismatched eyes flicking straight back to what he was looking at. One of Basso’s eyebrows raised in intrigue and carefully, he turned his gaze to see what exactly had Garrett so entranced. He squinted because there was... nothing? There was nothing that would catch the thief’s inquisitive eyes, only a man sat a few tables over nursing his own drink. Unless-

Basso flicked his eyes back to Garrett, the thief was still looking in the direction of the man, then suddenly back down to his drink for a few moments until they skittered back to the lone figure. Basso could feel his eyes squint on their own accord, cogs already turning in his head. Why was Garrett eyeing up this man? Did he recognise him? Was he a threat somehow? A potential contact? There were so many possibilities running through Basso’s mind and he was ready to question Garrett what was wrong until he caught a twitch of a smirk forming on the thief’s face, his eyes hooded, eyelashes fluttering and dark against his pale cheeks.

Basso blinked slowly, his eyes fixated on Garrett. The thief looked away again coyly. _Fuckin’ coyly?!_ If there was one thing Basso did know about Garrett was that he certainly wasn’t coy. He’d never seen Garrett be anything but dark and brooding with the occasional sarcastic quip. What Basso was seeing now was something entirely different. Was this actually Garrett? Was it an imposter? The thief never showed interest in anyone; never made comment about some pretty lady that he was interested in, no tales about a late-night rendezvous with some nameless body who took his fancy. Nothing. Until now and Basso was honestly _stumped._

Garrett had looked away again, lightly running a fingertip along the rim of his tankard, his lips still quirked into a tiny smile and he looked so _un-Garrett_ like it made Basso stare down at his own half empty drink. The thief looked young, like he wasn’t the aloof, serious man who’d seen his fair share of shit throughout the years. Despite this change had thrown Basso for a loop he had to admit, it was a good look on Garrett. It was- it was _nice._

The fence took a swig of his ale, the drink bitter and no longer cool down his throat and he shifted his gaze back to the lone man a few tables away from them. His attire was unusual, not like the drab clothing the Cityzens tended to wear; his jacket was long and tailored, dark blue with gold accents. It was regal looking, something that didn’t quite fit here in the Burrick. But the contrast between his clothing and his own appearance was intriguing to Basso. The man’s hair was long and dark, nearly shoulder length. It looked a little unkempt but Basso couldn’t fault him for that, most people did these days and who was Basso to say he looked awful when the fence himself looked like he dragged himself through the mud most days. What especially had caught the fence’s eye was the man’s skin tone; even though the lighting in the pub wasn’t the best, Basso could still see the man was darker than most of the patrons sat inside the Burrick, his skin an olive tone and contrasted nicely with the rest of his dark features. _Definitely not a Cityzen. Illyrian?_ His clothing didn’t scream Illyrian but a lot of people here in the City and surrounding areas didn’t really know where Illyria even was.

He mused over his thoughts, still eyeing the lone figure at the other table and watched as the mysterious man tore his gaze away from his tankard to shyly look towards where he and Garrett were sat. Except those dark eyes weren’t on Basso, didn’t even acknowledge the fence was sat opposite the man who he was eyeing up. The man’s lips tugged at the corner into a shy smile as he looked away again, drumming his fingers on the stained table top. Basso pursed his lips as his eyes shifted to Garrett, the thief’s own downcast and his lashes thick against his pale cheeks as he thumbed at the rim of his tankard.

What didn’t escape Basso was the blush - _a fucking blush_ \- painting Garrett’s high cheekbones, staining his skin prettily. _Prettily?_ Basso wanted to blanch. He had never thought of Garrett as being pretty. Handsome? Yes. But pretty? Garrett and pretty didn’t belong in the same sentence but Basso had decided this was the night of realisations. One too many, in his opinion.

But- maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Wasn’t he thinking earlier he’d like to know more about Garrett? Even if this wasn’t exactly how he imagined finding out about Garrett’s _interests_. Basso was never one to push the thief, knowing well that Garrett guarded his privacy fiercely and would rather have the thief reveal parts of himself to Basso on his own terms. To Basso, Garrett was his closest friend, a friend he’d known for a long time since the thief was young and gangly, the skin over his ribs just a little too thin and knees sharp and knobbly. And also in need of a good bath. The early memories made Basso’s heart constrict but he pushed it away by taking another swig of ale, hoping the bitter drink would chase away the sentimentality. 

He watched for a few more moments, noting Garrett’s intrigue in this strange man; noting how Garrett never revealed his interest in anyone because showing interest in anyone of the same sex was a quick way to getting yourself the noose. Of course, if one was smart enough they knew that many people in the City were involved in same sex relationships, most of which happened behind closed doors, in privacy, but it was still happening despite the City’s stance on such things. Not that Basso cared. Who was he to judge what people’s preferences were?

Garrett sat fidgeting with his scarf, the cloth pressed gently against his jawline and chin but the thief pinched at the material, pulling at a loose thread. It was uncharacteristic, _strange_ , to see his friend anxious. But was he anxious? Shy? Basso wasn’t entirely sure. He sighed heavily, rubbing at his temple under his hat. If Basso had to sit here much longer and watch Garrett make doe eyes at some mysterious, handsome stranger all night he’d rather drink himself into a stupor and wake up in a ditch. 

With one last look at the stranger, who was studying his drink intensely, Basso turned back to the thief and laid his hand out on the table.

“Y’know, there’s some rooms free...” He opened with, hoping Garrett got the fucking point.

The thief jolted slightly, his hand falling away from his scarf like it had burned him. His eyes went wide as they looked towards Basso then squinted, suspicion creasing his features.

“What?”

Basso sighed again. _Or not..._

The fence gestured his head towards the stranger, not bothering to look his way but hoping Garrett knew what he meant.

“I’m sure if you slipped Seamus a coupla coins he’d give you a room for the night. So, y’know...” Basso waved his hand around, trying to emphasis his point further.

Garrett stared hard at him, his eyes burning with something Basso didn’t want to put a name to.

“Y’know _what?_ ” His mouth pinched around the words and it reminded Basso of the sulky teenager he met all those years ago. 

Basso sighed hard as he rubbed his hands over his face, chuckling tiredly behind them, “Garrett, you really don’t like to make things easy, do ya?” 

With his hands gone from his face, he looked at the thief, his own haggard features softening at the petulant look he was being given, “Go talk to him,” at ‘him’ Basso jabbed a thumb in the direction of the stranger, “Rent a room. Do whatever it is you wanna do.”

Within seconds the look of suspicion fell from Garrett’s face. A deep blush stained his cheeks and across his nose and he ducked his head, his hood covering his eyes. It made the corner of Basso’s mouth twitch into a smile. _This damned thief..._

“I don’t-“ Garrett started, picking at some thread on his left glove. He looked so... small. Young. It made Basso went to wrap him in the best blanket he had.

“Garrett,” He chuckled, part amused and part exasperated, “You’re allowed to enjoy ya’self, y’know.” 

The thief looked up from under his hood, the blush still dark across his pallid face. His mismatched eyes flicked towards the stranger quickly, then back again to Basso, the blush deepening even further. Basso took a chance and glanced at the stranger, a smile on his own face as he looked away again to take a sip of his drink.

The fence smirked and crossed his arms on the table in front of him. “Go on. He’s clearly interested. Go have fun. By the gods, you could do with some.”

Finally, Garrett lifted his head, though his eyes were downcast. His bow-shaped lips were in a firm pout and he breathed in deeply through his nose. He moved his hands on the table top, ignoring Jenivere’s squawk of annoyance as he upset her comfy spot against his hand and glanced up at Basso. His eyes were unwavering, even with the blush, as he pushed himself up and away from the bench. 

“We’ll never speak of this again. Ever.” 

He and Basso held eye contact for a few moments, Basso worried that he may have offended the thief until a barely-there smirk pulled at Garrett’s lips. With an arrogance that Basso was so used to seeing from the thief, he left the table and made his way to the bar.

Basso watched Garrett as he paid for a room, one palm resting against his cheek and Jenivere nestling in the other laid out on the table. He continued to watch as Garrett sauntered away, eyes catching the stranger’s with his small but cocky smirk still in place. And then he was gone. Out of sight, in all his dark glory, no doubt making his way quietly up the stairs to go to his rented room. With Garrett gone, Basso turned his attention to the lone figure across from him, noticing how his dark eyes lingered on the corner where the thief had disappeared. Slowly, he finished his drink, placing it carefully on the sticky table top and manoeuvred himself from the bench. He stood and Basso’s eyes widened at the man’s height. But no one paid him any mind. The stranger adjusted himself, ran a hand through his long hair then quietly made his own way around the corner.

Even both gone, Basso kept watch for some time, Jenivere pecking impatiently at his hand. He snorted and shook his head, a smile spreading wide across his face. He waved Dolly back over for another round. He was going to stay awhile. Just in case. 

But he was damned sure Garrett was in for a good time.

**Author's Note:**

> Would Garrett go and have some fun with a stranger just because? Probably not.
> 
> BUT HE DOES NOW.
> 
> Also; there’s now stairs in the Burrick. Fight me.


End file.
